Matthew Arnold

Journalism is literature in a hurry.

Journalism is literature in a hurry.

I must not say that she was true,
Yet let me say that she was fair;
And read more

I must not say that she was true,
Yet let me say that she was fair;
And they, that lovely face who view,
They should not ask if truth be there.

They live that they may eat, but he himself [Socrates] eats that
he may live.

They live that they may eat, but he himself [Socrates] eats that
he may live.

On one she smiles, and he was blest;
She smiles elsewhere--we make a din!
But 'twas not read more

On one she smiles, and he was blest;
She smiles elsewhere--we make a din!
But 'twas not love which heaved her breast,
Fair child!--it was the bliss within.

It is - last stage of all When we are frozen up within, and quite The phantom of ourselves To read more

It is - last stage of all When we are frozen up within, and quite The phantom of ourselves To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost Which blamed the living man